


Unlikely Heroes

by Flashyfirebird



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Adventure, Angst, Drama, F/M, Love and Thunder predictions, Slow Burn, Villains to Heroes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-16 19:22:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29954718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flashyfirebird/pseuds/Flashyfirebird
Summary: Jane doesn't want to be a hero. She can barely get her life together as it is, what with her apartment being sold and her lab dismantled in the five years she missed from the Snap.Too bad Mjolnir seems to have chosen her as its new owner.And why is Loki so interested in her, anyway?[Takes place after the events of Avengers: Endgame. Contains rampant speculation and predictions about the new Loki series + Thor: Love and Thunder.]
Relationships: Jane Foster & Loki, Jane Foster & Thor, Jane Foster/Loki, Loki & Thor (Marvel)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 25





	1. Afterward

One moment, she's collapsing into ash in the middle of her laboratory.

The next, she's alive again, gasping for air, though she still feels like she's half torn to pieces.

She collapses to the floor, stares around her. The space is different, the tables totally rearranged, nothing is where it should be—in fact, most of her equipment is not there at all.

In a daze, she wanders the corridors, down toward her office. The door is closed, though she could have sworn she left it open, and the name on the door is not her own.

-v-

She spends days wandering around, half in a daze, trying to pull together the threads of her life. Her lab's been dismantled, taken over by one of her rivals. Her funding's gone. Her apartment's been sold; it belongs to an old couple now, and they threw out her old things. Her cell phone's likewise gone—not that a five-year-old model would do her much good anyway—but she finally manages to find her old computer, in a dusty corner of the lab under a pile of old books.

She's not the only one in this predicament, of course. Shelters spring up, practically overnight, though nowhere near enough to accommodate the sudden influx caused by half the world's population coming back from the dead. Some stay with friends, some go back to their old homes, some sleep in empty libraries or workplaces. Jane almost sleeps in the lab—it's not like she hasn't done it before—but in the end, Darcy Lewis takes her in.

She and her boyfriend—husband, now—have two kids, one newborn, another a toddler. It's noisy and chaotic, and Jane tries not to get too much underfoot. She spends most of her time out, trying to get her bearings on the new world, trying to replace what she's lost.

It's on the fourth day, as she's waiting in line for a new social security card and passport, when he finds her.

She's been waiting for two hours, chafing at the lack of a phone or some sort of distraction—a paper, a book, even a trashy novel would be welcome at this juncture. The line snakes almost halfway around the building, a tortuous chaos of people all trying to sort their lives into order like she is. Jane's almost ready to give up and come back another day when a throat clears behind her.

"Jane Foster," he says, inclining his head. He's in a dark suit, nondescript—well, as nondescript as it is possible for Loki to be—looking washed out in the hot New Mexico sun, and she is certain— _positive—_ he hasn't been here all this time.

"You're in the wrong line," she says. "This is the line for new ID cards. The line for the county jail's over there."

She jerks her thumb down the dusty New Mexico street, then bites her lip, feeling mildly shocked at her audacity. Not that there aren't hundreds of people nearby, but that's never stopped him before. She waits for his eyes to darken, to flash with rage, but to her surprise, he laughs.

"Oh, I think I'm right where I should be." His eyes glitter in the desert sun. He leans closer, ignoring how she tenses, lowers his voice. "Your presence is wanted in New Asgard," he says.

Paper materializes between his index and middle finger. He holds it out: a passport, and a ticket.

"Ta-da." He hands her the items. "Your flight leaves tomorrow. Don't be late."


	2. New Asgard

She doesn't use the ticket, of course. She's not stupid.

Scenes play out in her head, of the plane being hijacked midflight, or blown up, or bombed. It _is_ Loki, after all.

But there is nothing on the news the next day about flight A258. She checks the internet, which reports the plane landed in Oslo without incident—no accidents, no unexpected deaths, nothing the least bit suspicious.

And yet, she's uneasy.

He helped her, she thinks, he wasn't all bad; she remembers the battle against Malekith, when he pushed her out of the line of fire to safety. But if she was wanted so badly in New Asgard, why would Loki fetch her? Why wouldn't Thor come himself?

She tries to let it go, but it's like a worm, gnawing away at her conscious. She has money now, not much, but the government's started a fund to help reactivate old bank accounts, and really, she has nowhere to be, not now that she's jobless. On impulse, she books a flight to Oslo that Saturday.

-v-

She doesn't know what to expect when she steps out of the cab. A part of her thinks she shouldn't be here at all; she should be trying to get her lab up and running again, trying to get funding, to read up on new developments, to tend to the myriad things that she's missed over the past five years. But, she reasons, a few days won't set her back much. Perhaps it will give her time to ground herself, to start to feel settled in this splintered, bewildering world that's gone on without her.

New Asgard is not what she expected. She remembers the splendor of the old version: shiny, wreathed in gold, glimmering with technological advancements beyond her wildest dreams, sunlight beating down on silver walls. She thought she might find glimpses of it here, in this new version, except this new version is just like earth—like earth buildings trying and failing to be something greater.

It makes sense. They would have to make do with what resources were available on Earth, after all. But it's still an emotional blow.

All those people.

Homeless, relocated.

Rebuilding.

Like her.

She pays the cab driver and starts up the path. As she tops a rise, an open-air theater comes into view. She doesn't know what else to call it; it's too big to be a stadium, too small to be an arena.

Jane halts.

At one end of the theater sits Thor, older, grayer, heavier than she remembers, his hair long now, down past his shoulders, as though he hadn't cut it since the Snap. Beside him is an unfamiliar brown-skinned Asgardian Jane's seen only on television but recognizes as Valkyrie.

In the center of the theater, on a pedestal, sits a very familiar hammer, a bit more worn than she remembers, with cracks running down the middle.

People approach the hammer, some clad in Asgard garb, some wearing more familiar clothes; at this distance, it's hard to distinguish who is Asgardian and who is of Earth. Most of them are young. But, Jane realizes sickly, most of the warriors in New Asgard would have died during Hela's invasion. 

One by one, necks corded, muscles straining, they strive to lift the hammer.

It's a trial, Jane realizes. A trial— _but why?_

She glances at Thor again. A few Asgardians are beside him; they look unhappy. One is arguing, pleading, teary-eyed, as Thor shakes his head. Thor gestures. Jane follows his hand and sees what she somehow missed earlier—a spaceship, docked a few miles away.

She thinks back to the tabloid she read while boarding the plane that morning. _Thor and the Guardians of the Galaxy to embark on a journey into space—_

Emotion bubbles over. Before Jane knows what she's doing, she strides out of hiding and hurries toward Thor.

His eyes light up. The breath flees from her lungs as he engulfs her in a hug. "Jane!" he cries, and to her surprise, tears leak from his eyes.

She hugs him back. So much has happened, and so little, it would be a lie to say a lump doesn't swell in her throat. They broke up on amicable terms, agreeing to stay friends. It's been a whole year since she's seen him. For him, it would have been much longer. She wonders if he's missed her; by his reaction, the answer is yes.

"What's going on here?" she says, once the pleasantries are over, and Thor explains, what she read in the tabloid is true, the ship departs the next morning. Valkyrie will take his place. Someone else will wield the reforged hammer: whoever is worthy, whoever can lift it. They will protect New Asgard.

Jane pulls back, swallowing. "You're just going to leave them," she says. "Just going to leave them all, just like that?"

The grin slips off Thor's face, leaving something hollow and wounded underneath.

Jane turns away, tamping down bitterness. She shouldn't have said that; it was cruel of her. The last years have clearly shattered and reforged him in ways she cannot fathom. It's just, she can't help but think of all those years after his departure in New Mexico, when she waited and waited and _waited_ for a sign that he'd return.

It was stupid to come here.

She looks up, just in time to see a young girl—she can't be older than ten—trying to lift up the hammer. Her brow furrows on the second try, and on the third try she bursts into tears.

"For heaven's sake," Jane mutters. "No one thought to put an age limit on this contest?"

"It's all right," she comforts the girl, as Thor tries to explain that most of the older Asgardians already tried to lift the hammer early this morning. "You're not a bad person just because you can't pick up the hammer."

"I'm not worthy," the child wails. "I knew I shouldn't have stolen all those cookies."

"Nonsense," says Jane. "I'm sure this hammer has a much more complicated algorithm for determining who should wield it than that." _After all, Thor can wield it, despite the fact that he's about to abandon you all on a spaceship._

Unthinkingly, she gives the hammer a light pat on the handle.

It falls off the pedestal and slams to the ground.


End file.
